


Flock Together

by Angelicasdean



Series: Powerverse AU [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Chapter 4: Saint Denis (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 5: Guarma (Red Dead Redemption 2), Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Complicated Relationships, Eventual Happy Ending, Frustration, Gun Violence, Hurt Arthur Morgan, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Medium Honor Arthur Morgan, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Hosea Matthews, Sad with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Spells & Enchantments, Tags Are Hard, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Touch-Starved, Witchcraft, Worldbuilding, arthur lowkey needs anger management, guarma sucks so im gonna make it worse, hexes and jinxes, hosea matthews is the only braincell in the gang, of sorts, oh to be a hurt cowboy getting cleaned up by his cowboy husbo, this is serious im just horrible at tagging, trinkets and talisman used in unorthodox ways
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelicasdean/pseuds/Angelicasdean
Summary: “What, we caring about discretion now?” Arthur snorts, “since when?”“since it seemed like the world turned on usall of a sudden,”-Three months after Arthur's decision to throw away his life for the gang's sake, he finds himself alive. Unfortunately so. Life doesn't seem to have any spare breaks, that becomes obvious when the gang falls into an array of problems. From Jack missing, Sean almost dying, and several members falling mysteriously sick, it's left up to the few who are still on their feet to carry the pieces.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith, Arthur Morgan & Van der Linde Gang, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan, Jack Marston & Arthur Morgan, John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Series: Powerverse AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617190
Comments: 22
Kudos: 57





	1. Aftermath--The genesis of trouble

**Author's Note:**

> hi yall, i just wanted to say thank you all SO MUCH for the support on the first installment of this series :D it made my day, week and month that you liked the au! i didn't plan to progress the au further because i felt it was a bit too out of place in the rdr universe but!! here i am with a whole ass fic!

Shady Belle was… different. Apart from the smell, rotting wood, and lurking alligators; no one could really complain. It was a roof, albeit some will still sleep outside. It’s better that way, people like Hosea prefer the outside. Makes them feel closer with their core, Nature Presenters are always like that.

It’s handy.

Arthur stayed behind, watching idly as the men and women worked to change the abandoned mansion into a slightly more inhabited one. Sean was placed in a tent, the first one to be set up, head barely intact. It’d been a strike of luck, Arthur accidentally moving beside Sean, catching _most_ of the bullet, save for the bit that lodged into Sean’s temple and eye.

Still, he lived, and Arthur was thanked. He doesn’t deserve to be, in his opinion. A few months ago, before he foolishly forced his way out of chains and into The Split, Sean would’ve been lying dead. He did almost nothing, but he didn’t say anything.

He complained for months, and he’d put the gang under enough stress, he doesn’t get to _talk_. Opening up would just cause more distress, and the pitying looks are enough on their own. For the most part, Arthur can learn to ignore them, and the pain, and the regret.

But he didn’t expect to be lonely…

The _pain_ , he discovered, was permanent. His body breaking and mending, cells dying, regenerating, splitting only to die again. Decaying, but alive. The first few weeks, when his eyes continued to open, and God didn’t take him down to hell, or up to heaven, Arthur hoped that it would ease. That one day his body will be whole again, and that he’ll stop dying.

Over, and _over_ , and **_over and_** **_OVER_** _again_.

After a few weeks, he got tired of screaming every waking moment, a _month_ in, he begged to be put down. But that would’ve been too _easy_ , for him. Merciful even.

Too hard on anyone else, though, no one took his plea. All they did was drown him in numbing potions, forcing medicine down his throat, and every then and again, put him under a sleeping spell. For a few days, he wanted to beg Micah to do it, since he’s the only bastard with enough coldness to do it. He didn’t get the chance to, though, Hosea had firmly placed him under a prolonged sleep. Long enough that when he woke up, the idea had been forgotten.

It was two months in that Arthur decided to live with the pain, his skill, his _power_ , was now a burden more than a perk. He’d been proud when he realized he was one of the few who could open gateways, actual gateways through earth with only a _thought._ A click of his fingers, an idea in mind, Arthur could be _anywhere_.

It was the best thing that had happened. It was his _gift_.

Now, he can’t control it, can barely think anyway. Always guzzling down drinks to help him survive the day, most of the time he’s half drunk, or high on morphine; if his body is cooperative enough to let a limb be physically present for as long as it takes to inject the drug.

Most of the time… he’s not in the physical realm, or, well. He _is_ but he isn’t whole enough to be there as solid as the others. His body is nothing but a tool to The Split, the curse uses it to destroy, rebuild, only to destroy again. A constant circle of death and birth. If he had to approximate it, he’d say his body is nothing but a pile of bricks for the curse. A block it can use to build a shape, punch through it and crumble it, only to use _those_ pieces to build.

It’s hell.

At least his soul is as intact as possible and he got his vision back, he can still do work, as taxing as it is. Now he doesn’t need to rest, or eat or drink, he has twenty-four hours full of pain to work through.

And well, _work_ through he does.

Most people don’t recognize what a Split looks like that, certainly because no one seemed to parade while suffering through it. Arthur guesses the others, _if_ there are others, had been put down fairly quick. A blessing for them, he found out that the mortality rate of The Split is just about zero on its own.

Why is that the worst part?

“Arthur” Hosea calls, walking past the horses getting set up with their hitching posts. Arthur blinks, focuses all his energy to be as whole as possible. The fire coursing through his arm is terrible, but at least he can take the empty crate Hosea had been carrying.

Granted, it phases in and out with him, flickering like one of those pictures in the movies that show in theaters. Hosea doesn’t comment, has learned after weeks now that, no matter how hard it is for him, Arthur _will_ try to help.

“How’s today?” Hosea asks, walking a step away from Arthur, giving him space in case anything happens. He’s been getting more and more unpredictable recently. No one comments.

“Fine,” Arthur grits out, and Hosea hums, unconvinced, “going to head out, Saint Denis isn’t too far, always has gossip running around, won’t be too surprised if someone heard something about Jack” he explains briefly, setting the crate at the edge of the wagon and pushing it further in, eyeing the full crates still left to be carried.

Jack… a whole ‘nother story Arthur is too ashamed to even start. How can a kid get swooped out of the camp, under the guard of several people? How the Braithwaites even got through the hexes and enchantments…. Maybe they need to rethink their magic

“hmm,” Hosea reaches to grab a crate, “you think that a man, phasing in and out of existence, looking like he’s getting broken into pieces, won’t reach the ears of Bronte?”

“What, we caring about discretion now?” Arthur snorts, “since when?”

“since it seemed like the world turned on us all of a sudden,” Hosea shoots back tiredly, “we don’t know who Bronte is, and Jack is helpless, he’s just a boy. We don’t want him to get hurt,”

Leaning as carefully as he can on the wagon, Arthur looks at his feet, looking like a ghost rather than a human, he sighs. “What do you want from me, Hosea?”

“I just…” a mirrored sigh, Hosea hesitates to place a hand on his shoulder. The touch seemed to make the invisible tension running through him, neck and shoulders relaxing. Human touch…well if he was starved before he’s famished now, “I know you want to help, but let… let us start this, and you can help us end it,” words soft, it doesn’t sound as barbed as how it should be.

“Sure,” he mumbles instead, pulling away from Hosea’s hand, grabbing a crate and cringing when his fingers briefly missed, passed through the wood and scattered into several tiny dots. Like dust particles, or smoke.

A deep breath passes through him, “I’m going to go, for a bit,” he says, and Hosea opens his mouth to comment, “don’t worry, won’t go near Saint Denis,” his voice is more venomous than he intended, he beats himself silently as he turns away, “won’t get Jack killed,” he adds to himself after.

-

Despite the drastic change in scenery, the fact that they were still in Lemoyne was daunting. While the Braithwaites and the Gray’s have been knocked down a few plaques down, sized down after two massive fights, there _are_ some still loitering around.

Arthur wasn’t down for a fight, not at the moment, even less with those vindictive bastards riding their asses. How everything can go so wrong, so quickly, Arthur doesn’t know. His mare strides beside him, even if he can’t ride her, she’s still a good presence to be had. She follows him on her own, snorting when she demands rest, or if she finds a good patch of grass to mow on.

Today they walk almost all the way towards the Lemoyne border, time passes much faster when your mind is blank and there is no urgency. No urgency for _him_ anyway, his presence is no longer _demanded_ in camp. Sure, Hosea says that even if most jobs that don’t include killing can’t have him, that they still _want_ him around; but that sounds more like white noise amongst all the complaints getting passed around from the boys in camp.

Their workload suddenly spiked, and with it, Arthur could only listen to them whine and moan about getting drained and not having time to spend on their own. He would sell his soul just to shut them up.

Grimshaw told him he shouldn’t feel guilty, they wouldn’t be here to complain if it weren’t for him anyway. The mind works in wonderous ways, often excluding rationality when it comes to Arthur and his self-hatred.

The bison are pretty enough to watch, long horns towering several feet above their heads, a sign of their age. He understands why Charles thinks so highly of them, if not for their significance in his tribe, then for the gentle power they hold. Their eyes twinkling darkly in the sunlight, fur heavy and thick, hiding the several pounds of muscle underneath. Gentle giants.

The sunrays dim with the approach of night time, slowly the bison herd themselves away to rest for the night.

“You’re not easy to find”

Arthur nearly startles himself scattered, feeling a stretch of pain behind his eyes when he nearly fully dissolved into the air. Charles raises a hand in apology while Arthur pieces himself together as best as he can.

“You tracked me?” Arthur asks, scooting a bit as an invitation for Charles to join him.

“Hosea was worried,” Arthur scoffs, Charles doesn’t change his expression but he tilts his head slightly.

“Hosea’s always worried,”

“Yes, but you’re special to him,” Charles says it so calmly, like it’s basic fact.

And well… it is, everyone knows Hosea is particularly soft on John and Arthur. These past few months though, they’ve been hard on everyone surrounding Arthur and he wouldn’t blame them much if they wished he wasn’t there anymore. In whatever sense it may be.

“maybe,” Arthur mumbles, clearing his throat “any news on jack?”

“Hosea managed to pin down a house, that man Bronte, he wasn't too hard to find. They’re heading there tomorrow,” Charles leans back on the grass, “Abigail seemed relieved and upset, she wanted them to get him today,”

“She’s been drawing the short end of the stick for years now, don’t blame her much on her lack of patience,” Arthur sighs, forcing away a distant memory, “ ‘specially when it comes to her kid”

Silence falls over them, Charles watching the bison laying down to sleep, a wind swiping by and blowing breeze into their hair. Arthur missed feeling the wind, the feeling of having it blow in his face and cooling him down after a long day.

He missed a lot of things.

“Do you regret it?” Charles asks, “breaking the chain?” his eyes trail to Arthur’s hand, the repeating cycle of skin chipping away, then regenerating, only to chip away again. Arthur looks away.

“Yes and no,” He replies, “I wish I could’ve still had my body, but I don’t regret saving you,” he says truthfully, “and the rest of the gang,” he adds. Charles spares him a curious glance, but his questions don’t reveal themselves. Arthur is mighty thankful for that, it’s been a hard day already, and delving into his state isn’t going to help him much.

“I don’t think I’ll go back to camp tonight,” Arthur informs, Charles passes him and indifferent glance.

“Whatever you wish”

“You can head back if you want to,”

“do you want me to?” Charles asks, and Arthur’s eyes trail off towards the ground. He doesn’t know. On one hand, he’d rather wallow in his own pity alone, better that way, won’t get scolded. On another… Charles has always been a reassuring presence, and having him around would probably help some of the loneliness in his chest subside, if for a bit.

“I won’t force you to stay,” Arthur says instead, and he hopes his own internal dilemma shows in his tone of voice. Charles looks at him for a moment, dark eyes shimmering in the ever dimming light, his scrutinizing doesn’t feel as pressuring as the others’ is. If pity is what he’s feeling, he doesn’t show it.

“I’ll go start a fire,”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur finds himself in solitude, but not for long.

By dawn, Charles had woken up. The night had passed mostly in silence, nestled just on the edges of New Hanover, practically peering over the state line, Charles had started a fire and set a bedroll for himself, even bothering to grab Arthur’s and set it up.

It was nice, a deer would pass once in a while, running away when she spotted the men taking up space in its forest. Nothing else though.

By six, they were already heading back, Charles riding in a smooth canter so Arthur doesn’t need to strain himself trying to catch up.

It takes most of the early morning for them to get back, mostly passed in silence. Every once in a while they'd stop, Arthur taking a breather when his hurt gets too bad. 

The camp is quiet, Dutch in deep discussion with Hosea out in the gazebo. Abigail is sitting anxiously at the table, Karen comforting her as best as she can. 

Arthur sighs, chest heavy as he ties his mare to the hitching post and strides in. 

-

Party is in full swing, loud music blasting as Javier’s sweet voice booms. It's unnaturally loud and resonates deep into their chests. 

Siren music is always pleasant. Especially a happy siren; which he is now. Even deep in the woods, far away from the main gig, Arthur can feel it clearly, despite not being wholly there.

Resonates with the _soul_ , not the body, or so he'd guess.

He's quiet, listening to the music from far away. It feels a bit bitter that he can't join, or maybe he isn't letting himself join. Whatever it is, it's shoved down deep while he watches a few gators shuffling quickly. Their scales raise when they spot Arthur, color changing into a deep brown almost black, blending almost perfectly into the ground. He can still see their white claws, slowly staining because of the squelching mud.

He almost wants to test what would happen, but the alligator tucks itself tight against the ground when the sound of breaking wood echoes from behind him. 

Instantly on guard, Arthur turns towards the sound, raising an eyebrow when he spots Kieran stumbling away from the party. He follows his steps, curious as he walks deeper into the forest.

Idiot might land into an alligator nest, or break his neck slipping on mud. Lord knows a few months back, he had done the same. 

Tempted to let Kieran suffer his own consequences, Arthur shakes himself off and stands up. Despite what he wants to act like, the kid has grown on him. Like moss on a tree.

The alligator growls at him, deep, rumbling like a tiny earthquake. Arthur pays it little attention as he follows the hiccups and quiet mumbles that escape Kieran as he leans from tree to tree. 

Finally, Kieran stops, tapping the tree he's closest too. The tree opens under his command, hollowing a perfect nest for him to sleep in. With a frown, Arthur watches as Kieran sings under his breath and clumsily kneeling, groaning and holding his head for a moment. 

There's a ripple through the air, something that makes Arthur wince, ears ringing painfully. Kieran seems to have taken the worst of it, crumpling to the ground entirely. 

Maybe it's the booze, or maybe because their cores differ, Whatever it is. Kieran writes in pain from it, before Arthur can even move towards him, a snap of energy blind him, electricity buzzing in the air. 

The beam of buzzing light catches Kieran at the neck, looping around itself, tying down Kieran with a sick sizzle. Kieran wiggles on the ground, pain and panic shining through his eyes. 

He catches Arthur's gaze, a wide plea echoing through without words. Kiera's eyes are shiny with tears, and Arthur spots the snickering men making their through the trees. 

"got the bugger, oh, Colm's gonna be so happy," one says, and realization slowly dawns on Arthur as he slowly creeps back into the shadows. 

Kieran struggles against his restraints, panicking even more. Probably thinking Arthur's ditching him. 

Tough luck on that. 

Arthur focuses enough to feel his fist again, flexing his fingers. Eyes darting from man to man, a small calculation in mind, Arthur summons a portal underneath one of the O'Driscoll. 

He steps right into it, and Arthur quickly reacts by opening the exit portal several feet above. Higher than the trees. A high enough drop to kill the O'Driscoll. 

The second man jumps as his companion drops from the sky with a strangled scream, another ripple breaking the air and sending a buzz that aches Arthur's ears before it ends abruptly. 

Arthur opens a third portal, but the O'Driscoll dodges it, looking straight at Arthur. 

He doesn't get to see it, more feel it. The buzz before something strikes him across the face, burning his flesh for a moment. 

He tries to move, but his legs fuzz out, and before he knows it, he's several steps closer than he wanted. He's dizzy for a moment, getting his bearings back. Slow enough to get slashed again, the electricity making his hair stand and sending an unpleasant shrill sensation through his body. 

The O'driscoll looks smug for a moment, until Arthur opens a portal underneath him. It's a bit too far, but the O'driscoll steps right into. The beam of light flashes, and the O'driscoll disappears. 

He doesn't know where he opened the other end, but he doesn't much care. Kieran is lying, whimpering on the floor. Parts of him burned from where the electricity had stung him. Poor bastard. 

Too tired to attempt piecing himself together to carry Kieran, Arthur traces a portal beside Kieran, motioning for him to touch it. Kieran moves with a groan, face scrunched up in pain, he's lucky he didn't get hit in the head. Instant death, he heard. Too much for the brain to handle, some say it even melts inside your skull. 

The small burns Arthur personally has are stinging, deep into the skin, not superficial as he'd hoped. He can't even heal it himself anymore, he has to wait for it to naturally go away. 

He can't imagine how Kieran is feeling. 

Finally, Kieran manages to touch the portal, light flashing almost blindingly as Arthur follows him. He makes sure to drop himself a few steps away. 

He'd managed to pin point the place almost correctly, Kieran lying in the middle of the house, whining as he clutches his neck. Arthur himself wobbles, blinking away the permanent dizziness. 

He never used to get dizzy, or at least, not after he got used to it. Just another thing to hate about himself now. 

Hosea stares at them with wide eyes, and Arthur blinks back. 

"We need to move," He says, and Hosea rushes to Kieran, calling for someone to help him, "O'Driscoll know where we are, they were going to kidnap kieran, bring him back to Colm. No doubt try and get some of us too," 

"Stay still, Kieran," Hosea whispers, and Kieran stops writhing underneath his touch, "this might hurt, but I need you to stay still," he instructs, hands already tracing the wounds. They're deep, burning through flesh and muscle, almost to the bone. Arthur winces at the sight. "Go tell Dutch," Hosea says to him, "No doubt he'll be furious," 

"Alright," Arthur gives a solemn nod, "Will the kid be... alright?" 

"Let's hope, I can only heal so far, think a few days of bed rest and a few medicines here and there should fix him up. I don't know yet," Hosea mumbles, pulling Kieran' s shirt open. A particular wound oozes a gut twisting yellow, mixing with the surrounding redness and blackness of burnt skin to make an... Unpleasant mix of colors." Wake up Strauss, have him brew a sleeping potion," 

-

With the party effectively breaking up under then news. Strauss awake and brewing a bubbling, bright looking potion that smells like cherries, Arthur finds himself talking to Dutch. 

"They want us scared," Dutch growls, pinching the bridge of his nose, "They know where we are and we know they know. We'll be ready when they strike" 

"Or," Arthur chimes in, "We move, and avoid the possibilities of having casualties," he says, and Dutch gives him an unimpressed look, "Dutch this isn't a fight we have to pick, we're barely recovering from the Braithwaites, Sean is still barely coherent, Kieran is now down. I'm not much when it comes to fighting no more-" 

"You're still able to travel through realms-" 

"Yes but I can hold a gun as long as I used to, and you know Bill and John are still drained from the fight. Javier even exhausted himself trying to get info on jack, we're _weak"_ He emphasizes, and Dutch sighs, "Let's just move, we can head north for a bit, up to Roanoke, maybe even the Grizzlies. We won't have Pinkertons there, or O'Driscoll or even them Lemoyne Raiders" the Grizzlies will probably be good for them. Even if they've just moved, packing up and leaving will take less effort than going through an entire gang. And then... And then they'll probably attract Pinkertons. 

It'll be never ending. 

"I'll think about it," Dutch says, "Kid dead yet?" 

"Kieran?" Arthur asks rhetorically, taking a deep breath before going on "Don't think his wounds are bad enough to kill, but I'd suggest keeping an eye on him" 

"He might've been the one to set them on us," Dutch conspires to himself. A few weeks ago, Arthur may have considered it a possibility, but now... The kid proved himself 

"Kid looked mighty surprised when they got him, 'sides why would he sell us out, and then get kidnapped?"

"Colm is a vindictive bastard, Arthur, I thought you'd know that by now," Dutch grits out, and Arthur gives it a spare thought.

"We ain't been exactly quiet for them not to find us on their own, Dutch," Arthur replies quietly, "Anyway, we need to think of moving"

"Yeah, yeah," Dutch waves dismissively, "I'll sleep on it," he adds with little interest, and Arthur can feel the bit of hope dissolve in his chest.

Or it might've been the spell cast on him, who knows.

Arthur leaves Dutch to his own devices, knowing the man doesn’t _sleep_ much, he'll probably stay up the night thinking of ways to tear Colm O'Driscoll alive when he comes barging through their camp.

With that in mind, Arthur sighs and goes on a search for Hosea's books. Spells and Hexes would help them get an upper hand when the fights come to them. They probably hadn't set them up yet, usually tasked to Sean and Lenny, but one is down the other is trying to work three times his effort. Probably forgot. 

Doesn't blame them, they're both still extremely young. Despite Sean's lack of reading ability he's an excellent spell caster, _learned from his da._

Lenny probably read his own weight in books, knows every spell from A to Z.

Arthur won't do half as good of a job, but he perfected a few, sometimes even cast them during fights. But casting for a non wizard is... Draining. Especially now for Arthur, his core is tearing itself to shreds and trying to knot the seams. 

The book is dusty and hidden underneath a stack of books in a crate that has yet to be unpacked. Arthur flips a few pages, humming his annoyance when the paper didn't move with his hand, and he's starting to feel extra drained as he focuses again, cursing quietly when his cheek stung with the reminder of his fight. 

The pages that Sean and Lenny are already dog eared, almost permanently now, the browned paper have remembered the creases. The older English and bits of Latin are easy on the eyes by now, the scribbled translations above difficult words help. 

Soon enough he was gathering a few supplies, with Strauss away from the wagon, no one can stop him from snatching the bones, herbs and hex bags he needs. Mumbling the steps to himself, Arthur sets the objects down on a clear space on the ground, deeper into the forest than where their original hexes would have been places. It takes a good chunk of his energy to stay together long enough to make the paste, the hex bags would've been easy if his hand wasn't shaking so much. 

The sky tells him it's close to dawn by the time he's ready to actually start enchanting the bags, muttering the words as best as he could, eyes fixed on the open book and fingers tying the knot that closes the hex as he says the final words. A gentle shine rounds the knot, signalling that it's successfully enchanted. Enchanting was fairly easy, Arthur just needed to suppress his accent as best as he could, speak _proper_ English. When he was younger it was near impossible but now... well he can do a okay enough job.

With the hex bags secured, enchanted and ready to be places, Arthur grabs the paste he'd made, picking the pestle out of the mortar and scraping the bits of the paste on it on the near by tree. A circle, a line underneath and a line through. He had drawn the sigil hundreds of times, of not more. Knows a trick to make it stronger too. 

He'd found it out from a wizard he helped a few years back, and it's quite a trick as much as a forgotten version of the sigil. The three dots he draws are forgotten in history, only few tribes remember it, the rest died during the Indian wars

He says the words, and the sigil brightens then disappears.

That's one down. 

-

It's early morning when Arthur finally leaves the forest, exhausted to his soul and wishing he was able to sleep. At least he's sure the gang has a chance now. 

He blinks at the rising men and women, Charles handing a rifle to Lenny, then retiring to his bedroll.

Arthur breathes deep, heading to check on Kieran. The boy is set up beside a tree, where the branches had sprawled towards him, sensing his pain. He's still asleep, thankfully, and Hosea seems to have healed what he could, coated what he couldn't in thick layer of treatments Arthur can't list. 

With a sigh, Arthur resides himself beside Kieran, leaning against a tree and closing his eyes. If not sleep, then at least rest.

Doesn't get to, hears the footsteps nearing him and cracks one eye open. Spots Hosea handling several bottles, setting them beside Kieran and gently waking the boy up. 

Kieran's face twists in pain, but Hosea is quiet and gentle as he coaxed Kieran to drink the medicines and brews he'd gathered.

Arthur watches intently as Kieran slowly settles, Hosea letting him sleep again. 

Hosea kneels for a moment, looking sadly down at Kieran "Poor kid," Hosea mumbles, looking towards Arthur.

"Yeah, poor kid," Arthur agrees, heaving a sigh, closing his eyes and leaning against the tree.

"You look tired, more so than usual," Hosea notes, coming to stand beside Arthur.

Arthur peeps one eye open, giving him a glance, not knowing where the sudden distrust came from. Or why it's there. He hadn't don't anything wrong. 

"Casting spells for most the night does that to you," Arthur answers, sighing deeply, "Dutch isn't set on moving, wants to butt heads with Colm. So I set up a few traps for when they come, all around the border of the gang. Hopefully a complete circle," he explains.

Hosea stays silent for a moment, then bends down to sit beside Arthur, "Thanks," Hosea says and Arthur shrugs.

"No need"

Hosea hums a neutral sound, "Do you want to rest, for a bit?" he asks, "you look worse than usual, and that burn on your cheek is not looking kind either"

Seems at the mention, all the tiredness and pain he had pushed aside to speak come crashing down on him. 

"Yeah," Arthur says, and it sounds more like a beg. Hosea's eyes soften, and he motions for Arthur to follow him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me actually updating relatively fast on a fic? Ha! What a joke.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really terribly sorry for the delay. I fell really sick for a week and my writing schedule went down hill really fast D: here's a long chapter as a sorry! Though expect longer chapters in the future as a regular :D

Day passes quietly. 

Arthur was in his room, given only for the sake of tradition, his cot had been rarely used these past few weeks. Until today, where Arthur finally gets what could be called sleep. It's the closest thing possible in his state, his mind is relatively active, active enough to witness the pain deep deep under his skin, where his bones are constantly fracturing.

But everything is fuzzy, and hours pass in a flash of blur. 

When the brew wears off, and the creaks and whines of the house register again, the sound of camp bustling loud in his ears again; Arthur forces himself to leave his bed. He has little energy, can feel the ebb of unrest behind his eyes, spiraling to his temples.

Yet he still heads outside, spots Sadie by the door, polishing her guns. She waves at him, fingers bloodied, probably went on an O'driscoll murder spree again. The thirst of blood she has would scare Arthur, if he didn't know how empty it truly was. Killing for revenge, always makes you cold while everyone sees you as a whistling pot. Radiating anger.

"Where have you been?" She asks as soon as Arthur is near enough, "First you disappear during the party, then you come back with a messed up O'driscoll, disappear again-"

"Dutch ain't gonna move us," Arthur cuts her off, "Them O'driscolls know where we are, what state we're in. Down three men and barely picking ourselves up, so I took matter into my own hands," he explains, hand coming to touch his itching cheek. Burns, and he misses the days when he could've slept and woke up with a scar, no pain.

" If they come, they come. We ain't weak, we can fight," Sadie says fiercely, and Arthur sighs," didn't take you to be one to back down from a fight"

He stays silent for a moment, her eyes pinning him with curiosity. Arthur sighs, shoulders dropping, "Just don't wanna lose more folk, if it's a fight we can avoid... Why not avoid it?"

Sadie hums, opening her mouth to respond. She doesn't get much chance, hair on Arthur's neck rising, and he knows what it means, confirmed when he hears the low whistle of fire burning. 

One of his hexes explode, and he feels the little bit of magic he placed disappear. Slowly, more and more explode, the sigils do their bit. He can see the men trying to break through the small invisible border he set up. 

It won't hold long, but it will hold them back enough that they can get ready. Sadie already has her rifle loaded, Charles and John waiting by the fence. 

The women and Jack take cover inside the house. 

The wall cracks, numbing Arthur's fingers as he whispers to himself a spell. His finger twitches when the spell fires, a blast of energy surging from the wall, pushing back the O'driscolls before the wall crumbles. 

Javier has his pistols out and Arthur calls for him to take the back of the manor, Bill by his side. 

There's a shout as O'driscolls start to flood them. Some hopping over the alligator infected waters, surrounding them completely.

Sadie fires, then frees one hand to cast a spell. She moves quick, helping John and Charles in clearing the front. 

Hosea guards the wounded, Lenny beside him while Hosea guides the earth. The vines sprawl and branch, thick and powerful as they snap at O'driscolls, some wrapping around the enemy's throats and dragging them down. 

Arthur can't do much but pick up a gun, focus what little energy he has into gunning them down. 

There's a buzz in the air, like a war field has, spells getting cast, powers being used. The spirits of dead men fading. It almost dizzies him while he aims, just the pure denseness of the air. He's been through it before, but never gets used to it. 

Thunder crackles above them, and a bolt almost fries Arthur where he's standing. Lenny shouts something, pushing Hosea out the way. The thunder scorches the earth where they stood, and Arthur spots kieran shuffling away, half asleep and panicked. Beside him, Sean twitches, still comatose. 

Arthur rushes towards them, kneeling, flinching when the sky thundered above them again. Kieran looks at him with wide, fearful eyes and Arthur beckons him closer. 

One hand on Sean's chest, the other grappling Kieran's hand, he forces himself to imagine the inside of the house. His room, his bed.

The energy fuzzed his mind, and he feels himself fly through the air for a second, before his legs hit the ground with a loud creak and thud. He opens his eyes, blinking away the swirling dizziness. Sighing when he finds himself at the correct place. 

Sean twists in his sleep, and Kieran rolls in pain from where he landed. It's not perfect, but at least they're not in the line of fire anymore. 

He leaves them where they are, with an apology whispered to unhearing ears. Rushing down the stairs and joining the fight again, almost getting hit in the process. 

The whiz and crackle of fire burning trees, of spells hitting stone and the endless cries of pain guide him to the thicket where the fight is at its worse. Charles fires an arrow, lowering the bow when three O'Driscolls grouped up on him. The earth rumbles for a moment before cracking, just enough for the men to fall through, swallowed into the dirt while the ground mends itself.

He turns towards Arthur, bow raising for a moment before his shoulders slope. "They're coming up left," he mumbles, raising his bow and firing an arrow that barely whizzes past Arthur's ears.

Arthur turns, purely from shock and watches the O'driscoll fall to the ground with a gurgle.

"Javier and Bill cleared the back, Sadie is handling the gates with John and Hosea," Charles continues, "Dutch is trying to handle things but O'driscolls are overwhelming him"

"Heading there?" Arthur asks and Charles nods.

"Need you with me, three men are better than two," he explains and Arthur follows him despite feeling uncertain.

Overwhelming was an understatement, Dutch was fighting tooth and nail to keep the enemies at bay.

Pushing and pulling any object nearby wildly. Charles sidesteps when the broken shards of a box flew too close.

Charles pulled his bow out again, putting down an O'driscoll that had been creeping up on Dutch. Joining the fight, the O'driscolls turn their attention to them.

-

"Chase them away!" Dutch yells, tone filled with Victory as the last handful of O'driscolls try to run, some failing "Go back to Colm, you cowards!"

Arthur tries to lower himself to the ground as gracefully as possible, having involved himself in the fight more than he ever wanted to. He leans against the stairs, head thumping against the large pillar beside him. 

"Is everyone there?" Dutch calls, gang regrouping slowly, some emerging from the house. Charles bends to his level for a moment before Arthur waves him off. 

"You alright?" Hosea asks briefly, and again, Arthur waves him off.

"Just exhausted," He says and Hosea nods, understanding. Dutch is calming the frayed nerves of the gang with vain words of boisterous victory from their fight. Arthur pays him almost no mind as he collects himself, almost literally as much as figuratively.

"I think this means we need to find a new place, Dutch" Hosea says after Dutch pauses his speech, Arthur looks up to see most the gang nodding in agreement within themselves. Dutch makes a sounds of disagreement, expression falling for a moment before he turns to the gang, and back again at Hosea.

"If O'driscolls found us, then Pinkertons, Lemoyne Raiders, even the little amount of Braithwaites left," Arthur lists, standing up slowly, wincing at the surge of pain through his scattering muscles. "We could get into a massacre and we won't be able to leave it, 'least, not without people hung in the crossfire," with a roll of his shoulder, knowing the defeated expression on Dutch's face means his argument won, Arthur moves towards his mare. "I know a few spots, I'll scout them while you pack"

"But you're tired," Hosea argues, and Arthur turns to him. It seems with the words, everything tumbles to their true weight on Arthur shoulders. He shrugs.

"Can't exactly rest, can't exactly help in packing. This 'll do me more good than evil," he says, and Hosea's expression turns pitiful. Arthur scoffs, "and 'sides, it ain't as bad as I'm making it seem. You know me, bit of an... Over exaggerate-er" he mumbles the last part, "anyway, I'll be back in a few" 

With a dismissive wave, Arthur turns and walks past Dutch. 

"I'll come with you," Charles calls out, and Arthur pauses until Charles is half a step behind him.

"Don't need to," Arthur mumbles and Charles gives him a side glance.

"You aren't seeing yourself," Charles replies quietly, "and, anyway, two eyes are better than one"

"hmph," Arthur tilts his head, "how am I looking?"

"Scattered," Charles replies, almost instantly. "tired," he adds, "just... Worn down"

Arthur stays silent as Charles mounts Taima, and just for the sake of normalcy, Arthur grabs his mare's reigns.

"How is she?" Charles asks, and Arthur turns towards his horse, she snorts in his face.

"Didn't get much time to bond with her, didn't name her still, but I think we're close as much as we can be. Seeing as I can't ride her," he gives her a pat, she pushes her nose against his hair.

"You've got names in mind?"

"She's strong," Arthur says walking her out of camp premises, stepping over the corpses of O'driscolls, "Sturdy, loyal, a bit stubborn but she's very playful, and a bit of a troublemaker" he sighs, "I don't know"

"What about Mackie?" Charles offers, "After the Mackie poltergeist"

"You wan' me to name my horse after a ghost?" Arthur asks, disbelief playful in his tone.

"a poltergeist"

"a fancy way of sayin' ghost," Arthur retorts, "Mackie," he repeats to himself, testing it out.

"you don't need to use it, I was just throwing names," Charles says, and Arthur looks up at him.

"Mackie," he parrots, "I like it," he says, looking back to his horse, "Mackie,"

"Mackie Poltergeist,"

"Mackie P for short," Arthur chuckles to himself, "Guess she's named,"

"Now she's really yours," Charles muses, Arthur nods, "we should head up, take the trail from here."

-

Through New Hanover, and a bit more towards Roanoke Ridge, Charles picks up on the change of pace from Arthur's end. Lagging behind a step or two, even Mackie shakes her head at how slow they're moving. 

Charles scans the area, just for a moment before suggesting they head deeper into the woods to set up camp. It was late after all. Arthur follows, letting Mackie step up beside Taima so she wouldn't act up for the rest of the night. She almost bolts as soon as he lets her reigns go, taking a few steps ahead of Taima and Charles before circling back and almost knocking heads with Taima. 

"Eager," Arthur chuckles quietly, and Charles gives him a small smile over his shoulder.

"You should let her run for a bit every now and then," Charles pulls on Taima's reigns, head titling for a moment.

The air shifts, Arthur feels it like a the press of cold air against his nose. Mackie and Taima raise their heads, ears flickering, eyes shining in the darkness. Mackie draws closer to him, tail swishing in warning and a low nicker in his ear.

He pets her gently, looking around and taking a testing step forward.

There's the low thump of air blowing, and the sound of a dart whizzing past Arthur's ear, hitting the tree stump behind.

Mackie rears, eyes shining brightly, stomping down as another dart barely misses Charles. 

Mackie bolts, and Taima spooks when a dart hits her saddle, running despite Charles' tight hold. Arthur turns when the bushes rustle, and he catches the rattle of bone behind him before he feels the hard hit of wood against his skull.

Already tired, off his game, Arthur falls to the ground. He turns to his back, barely flinching out of the way. The stick digs into the dirt beside his head, and he pushes it away, focusing enough to kick the masked attacker away.

The mask conceals their face, the large skull of a bull it looks like. The eyes seem to be painted under, only the whites and pupils distinct. The attacker draws back, circling Arthur expertly, swiftly swinging at his feet, only for the stick to go through. 

Arthur inwardly smirks, at least this ass of a condition comes in handy every once in a while. The attacker tilts their head in confusion, but not for long before they lunge at Arthur, stick to shoulder; pushing Arthur against a tree.

The breath is knocked out of him, and he could only swipe at the attacker, knuckles cracking against old bone. The mask swings off, and the painted face of a woman comes into view, she snarls at him, whacking her stick under his jaw. Teeth clanking together, narrowly missing biting his own tongue off, Arthur pushes her back, grabbing the stick and yanking on it as hard as he can.

It escapes her grip, and Arthur almost finds himself triumphant, only for the emotion to escape his grip when the earth underneath escapes him and he finds himself clashing into the ground. "Witch, witch, of course a fucking witch," Arthur mutters to himself, standing unsteadily before finding himself pushes back again, landing on his ass. "I don't want to hurt you," he shouts and her snarl is audible.

"I think we're past that point," She hisses at him, lunging to grab her stick, now discarded on the floor. Arthur beats her to it, grabbing it and pulling it away, never raising it off the ground. "You're in my space,"

"We were just passing through-"

"You have my weapon-"

"Because you're beating the shit out of me with it-"

She lunges again, grabbing the end of the stick and trying to pull it away from Arthur's grip, "you need to leave," she whispers.

"I will, we will just-..."Arthur splutters, searching for words to get himself out. Too caught in his word dilemma; she catches him off guard, tugging at the weapon to loosen his hold on the stick. She gives it a final pull, taking it and swinging at Arthur immediately.

He crawls backwards, groaning when his head hit a tree trunk, raising his arms to protect his face when another blow came to pass. Arms sore, face bruising, tired from all the fighting; Arthur doesn't do much when the witch lands a foot at the base of his ribs, pinning him down.

"This is a misunderstanding," Arthur wheezes when she stomps down, feeling his focus chip away, fingers already numbing. 

"Is it?"

"We were just passing through to find a place to sleep the night off in," He explains, "we didn't know this was witch territory,"

Her lips turn into a frown, eyes darkening, "Witch territory, what a joke," She says, feet retracting from Arthur's torso, a breath shakes in his lungs as the pain hits him. "Your friend," she starts, as Arthur picks himself up from the floor slowly, "he know what men like you do to people like us?"

"What?"

"he know the massacres you lead? the lives you took? all for land?" She continues, "he know the suffering we endured? walking around, parading with a man like you"

"a man like me?"

" _yes_ " she hisses, and Arthur swears it sounded more like a snake than a human, " _you_ , don't act naive now," her eyes are pinning Arthur down with the blaze in them. They hold power, the dark ember that feel more like fire burning deep behind her iris. A true sign of magic, angry magic. He doesn't want to get into that, he's tired already, and in no shape to face her wrath.

"I understand," he says, "I know, what we did, what _my people_ did," he emphasized. He knows the horror tales, heard them, witnessed them. It connects like two puzzle pieces, makes sense, the anger, her hatred blazing through her actions. Arthur raises his hands as a sign of peace, she steps towards him threateningly, infamous stick raising, the thick pale wood would haunt his dreams if he made it out of this alive. 

"Then you know why you must leave"

"I know," he agrees, _hell if he doesn't_ , "but i need to join my friend, I can't leave him alone"

" _why_ ," she snarls, Arthur takes a step back.

"We're passing through together," he explains, "we're searching for a place for my family, a new shelter since ours isn't safe anymore,"

"Your _family_ ," she whispers, looking off to the side for a moment, "Your friend," she calls back, "why is he fighting so hard to get to you," she asks, eyes glinting in curiosity. 

"Because he's my friend, and we tend to protect each other," he says calmly, he looks around for a moment, only now registering the missing presence, "what did you do to him?"

"Nothing, the horses and your friend are outside the circle," she replies, weapon lowering, "i don't trust you," she says, as if to clarify, "but i trust the judgment of your friend, ill fated as that decision may find me"

"that's alright with me," Arthur mumbles to himself. Wiping the dust out of his hand, and shaking the dirt from his hair. 

"Arthur!" Charles' voice is near, and Arthur rolls his shoulder, hiding his relief by looking at the ground, "Arthur," his bow was drawn as soon as the witch comes into view, Arthur waves him down. 

"It's alright," Charles walks the short few steps left between them, standing close to Arthur. The witch stares at them, eyes full of curiosity, "we're leaving," Arthur says, the witch's eyes move from Charles to him. A single nod, Arthur makes a move to leave.

"What's wrong with you?" The witch asks before Arthur gets a chance to step away, a little affronted, confused and in no mood to start another fight; Arthur turns, not expecting the twisted look on her face, "I mean, you, you're....you're all scattered, your energy is hard to place, I don't...I can't read you properly," she explains, words fumbled.

"It's...It's the split, if you know it, I...I uh, broke out of law chains," he should be used to explaining it, he'd been doing it for months now. Yet still, it feels odd to admit it to someone other than himself and the gang. Usually, the next question is _and you're alive?_

 _"Why?_ " she asks, Arthur shrugs. There isn't a why, he was scared, for him, his family, his friends. He did what he thought would save them.

"They were going to kill my family, innocent women beside guilty men," and God knows they deserve to be put down. But the world isn't just, and a hypocrite they are. They'll live, and they'll go on their way, and they'll be vile as well as good.

And maybe in the end they'll go on the straight and narrow. 

"I've never seen..." she trails off, taking a gentle step forward, painted hand reaching forward, "I've never seen one like this," she whispers, and Arthur nearly flinches when she touches his cheek, then pokes at his shoulder.

"Yeah," Arthur croaks awkwardly, looking towards Charles who shares a suspicious glance, "It's... It's because of my core, I think"

"It is," she confirms, stepping back, "You're not here, that's why I can read you," she notes to herself. Her glance goes far, ember eyes looking at the trees before she looks back at him, "Are you an Outlaw,"

"Depends on the day," seems recently he's more an errand boy, and not even to the gang. Running around helping random folk, finding carvings, finding whiskey carts. Hadn't touched his gun after Sean, until today.

"I'm Xomoo'e," she forces a hand forward, and Arthur takes it carefully, "You can call me Spear," she adds

"Arthur Morgan, and my friend, Charles," her eyes scan him, wide now, then to Charles; a sharp nod.

"I need your help," She says, "I can help you, you can help me."

"Help me?" he repeats and Spear nods.

"Your condition, I can help you, I know the magic of my elders, it can help you," She explains.

"You mean you can stop this?" The hope in his voice is almost disgustingly clear, it feels like a prickle against his cheek, and by God if the pain hadn't ceased.

"No," she shakes her head, Arthur's shoulders drop, disappointment isn't new to him but it still stings "But I can make it better, you can be whole, you'll be able to be _here_ not... Not scattered,"

"What do you want?" Charles asks for him, and Arthur glances at him before going back to Spear.

"The tribes are suffering," she says, "I need your help, I'm not enough alone to help them,"

"What are we supposed to do?" 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and critiques are appreciated!


End file.
